The Gravedigger 4: Soulless
by Kamagua
Summary: Over three years ago, the world was saved from the destruction of the cataclysm. Then it seemed so terrifying, but was so easily forgotten. Many turned their eyes south to Pandaria, but some could not be so easily swayed. Others ventured north, seeking the remnants of the sundering. They coming for a traitor, a monster, the freer of an old god. They come for a gravedigger.
1. Monster

How loud this silence has become - the thunderous pounding of my breath is deafening. He is here. The dark claims him. But he is here. I know it.  
_You need to do more finding and less knowing. Young one…he doesn't make any sense._

Please, you two, not now. I really need to –

_You don't make any sense, you ancient nitwit. Young one, I will smash this puny little bug._

Seriously. I really need to focus.

_You will be whittled into a fancy walking stick! Young one, I will grind you into fertilizer._

Stop –

With a crash, the voices are stayed. Something dense shakes my world. Smack, the ground greets my skull angrily. The world spins, yet it is but a swirly concoction of pure black. I feel someone clawing, ripping at my shirt.

Fingers grip at my collar, digging for my neck. I try to fight back, but the twisted barbs push down with the utmost of intensity. Air hisses to a stop. A sharp pain buries into my back. My shovel – I reach for it. It doesn't budge. I cannot budge.

Faster the world spins. I try to suck in another breath. Another. Only the dreadful hissing and my strained lungs. The world seems as if darkening. As my lungs begin to burn, the entire world grows darker. Through it all, however, I can see him. I can see his silhouette.

Suddenly, a soft smack accompanies the wheezes. The silhouette vanishes; with it, the sweet taste of air returns – albeit bitter and holds a hint of iron flavor upon each hasty breath. My mind stirs for a moment before settling upon the reality of things.

Immediately I sit upright – a mistake. I grasp the sides of my head, swaying to-and-fro as I do. Through the motions, however, I notice a lump a few feet from me. It is still, void of any signs of life; a mere silhouette of a once lively figure.

Still a mystery, but I know of a simple solution to that. With what little energy I can muster, and with quaky legs, I shift over to the wall nearest to me. Creaking brass sings softly, emitting a soft click and crack as the wall moves to my efforts. Light floods past the dam of a door, spilling across everything, lighting the dark mystery that tried to take me in the dark.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. As expected, a lifeless man lays upon the floor. Clothing as dark as night still shrouds much of him – say for the arrow protruding from his side. I turn to see where the shot came from, but I mustn't look far. Just visible in the door in my hands is a small hole.

It doesn't even seem possible. No normal man could take such a shot, especially when there wasn't any sigh to do so. He would have had to shoot blindly. There is only one man I know of capable of doing that, and he, unfortunately, hasn't been seen for quite some time.

I say that, of course, as my wandering curiosity catches sight of something. Creeping towards the doorway is the outstretched hand of darkness, forming as an elongated shadow cast my way. Its maker: a hunched figure draped in black – or possibly a dark green. He holds not a bow, but an eerie aura that sends shivers up my spine.

He doesn't, however, frighten me. "Hello?" I muster the finest of greetings for my supposed savior. It is almost delightful that he has even less to say than me. His only words are born from his unseen eyes that pierce his shrouded veil and prod at my very mind.

Slowly, he reaches towards his side, and with a flick, sends a small object skipping to a stop at the steps. I squint, peering down at the ground I don't tread very often any more. It should bother me, my seclusion, but I no longer have anywhere worth going. More accurately put, I have nowhere where I am wanted. Alas, I digress.

I hesitate briefly before scooping the glinting item into my hands. At first it appears as simple, mangled metal, but as I stare, I realize what I am looking at. Its complexity makes it seem as nothing more than mundane, yet it says so much. It is the marking of the "Forsaken". What, exactly, does it mean?

My eyes drift upwards. The rising sun gleefully pokes them with its playful hands. No longer do the claws of shadows crawl for me, but only the warming fingers of day. It is a nice touch, really. It has been some time since I went out into the sun. I imagine I must be pale.

_You are actually rather pale in your head. Young one, where did your savior go?_

Gone. Obviously.

_You aren't bothered by that? Young one, you should be more concerned by such._

Why? There is no point. I cast the thought from my mind; instead, I take one last look at the welcoming sun. It really is delightful. Alas, as much as I enjoy it, it is the darkness for me. I wish there was more to this empty void outside the bland furniture and the slumped, slightly stirring figure, but –

It would seem he is not as dead as I thought.

"Hi," I am a man of many words. But why stop there? My foot has a thing or two to say to this man. Once to his stomach. Once to his ribs – actually, why not one, two, three more times? "Welcome to my house. I would have prepared some food, but I didn't know you were coming."

Gentle groans are his only response. It is plenty for me. He writhes upon the floor, gripping at the impact spots futilely. They always do that. Seems rather pointless, but then again, I think I do it too. Pain has a funny way of making people do strange things.

I kneel next to the man. I give him a quick look, but there really isn't anything worth mentioning. His attire hides much and says even less. His stirring hood, however, says much more.

"So," my fingers find the only interesting part of his person. They squeeze tightly around the shaft of the arrow and give it a gentle tug. It is really stuck in there. I would be able to get it out, but this man won't stop screaming. "Calm down," I grumble, rolling the projectile like a stirring spoon in a large pot, "you are only going to make it worse –"

"Curse you!" he hisses at last, "curse you, you damn monster!"

That word is the key. I am nearly paralyzed by it; despite how often it seems to have come up as of late, I am still dumbstruck by it. _Monster_.

"Who sent you?" emotionless words roll from my mouth.

"Piss off," his are filled with enough passion to make up for mine.

Strangely, they always are. Each and every one sneaks into my house, tries to kill me when I am preoccupied, and then gain some righteousness when they end up like this. While I want to say they are rude, I am starting to see a pattern here. Sadly, I am the only constant, so maybe it has something to do with me?

"I am only going to ask you this one more time," my free hand shoots to the side. With a jerk, a dense object lifts careens and slams against a hollowed skull. "Who sent you?" The metal vibrates softly, matching the quiet moans of the man as he grips his head.

Sadly, he doesn't answer my question.

Clank, his skull sings so loudly.

Again, only whimpers.

Clank.

Cries of pain.

Clank.

Moans of – "Stop!" He howls, patting his _defenseless_ paws at me. "Stop it, you wicked little man."

"Just tell me who sent you, and I won't crush your skull. Any more."

"'_Who sent me?'_" harsh words escape his lungs. A hint of aggravation and disbelief coats them. A bit confusing, but not as bad as the laughter that begins to pour out of him. The laughs of a deranged man, one teetering upon insanity. That or a man coming to terms with his situation.

He bites down hard. A crunch echoes straight from is jaw and into my spine. I know that sound. "No," I shout uncontrollably. "No!" Frantic hands grip at the thick cloth. I jerk his head from the floorboards and draw his face close to mine. It will not be that easy. It will not –

"You know _exactly_ who sent me," laughter chases his words. Harsh, fluid coughs are hunted by a grotesque gag. Silence. Silence, say for the laughter that still sings in my mind and those last words.

A mild anger fills me, and I shake the stubborn, cowardly man. Pointless, but it does make me feel somewhat better. I say that, of course, before the hood that shrouded his face slips back across his ears. An unpleasant chill snaps at my heart. My mouth opens, but not a word spills forth.

He was right. I know exactly who sent him. His head smacks against the floor. The once mild anger erupts into a full, raging fire. That face…that broken face. How dare she? Of all the people in the world, how dare _she?!_

Once more, the door swings upon. Light smiles upon me, but all I can feel is a cold chill; the chill of a wind that whispers only for me.

I have had humans, dwarves, goblins, trolls, orcs – hell, even gnomes – come knocking at my hourglass, but they all failed to stop its falling grains. They came looking for the man, the _traitor_ of the already forgotten cataclysm. They came looking for a monster, but they were left wanting.

I am not a monster. I don't care what they think. I don't care what any of them think. But to think that she would dare come for my head. She knew better. She _knows_ better.

For the first time in three years, I descend my steps of my home upon Blackwood Lake, and march down the lonely, broken road. In one hand, the darkened digger of my past. In the other one, a mundane medallion of my rage.

I come for answers, my Queen.

I come for _you, _Sylvanas.


	2. Where You Go

While the woman never truly liked me; while she hated my existence at times; while she thought I was an idiot and a fool ; while she despised me touching her, looking at her, and even being in the same room with me; while –

_You really need to get to the point. Young one, you are starting to make me question you._

I never thought her capable of _this._

_You knew it was a matter of time. Young one, maybe she is simply experiencing a hormonal imbalance, leading to odd side effects. Young one, I have heard human females exhibit such oddities during certain periods of time._

That is possible –

_You do realize that is called a period? You know that, right, tree? Young one, I do believe I mentioned it was a period of time, yes. You daft lumber, it is an actual thing – it is utterly mute, tree. You have to be alive to experience it. Young one, I comprehend such._

Is this really the time to be having an anatomy lesson?

_You know that the Queen is dead, right? Young one, what would a bug know about humans, hmmm? You know I know enough – Nathanus, if nothing else, is a fine teacher of the sorts. Young one, the Angry Faceless One is quite knowledgeable; though, if his teachings stand true, then it would seem that most human females are mentally unstable._

Guys…

_You are correct. Young one, it is have been decided: she is losing grip upon sanity. You heard the tree: she is crazy._

Really? Is that what it has come down to? She is a woman: in turn, she is crazy?

_You said it. Young one, such is the cycle of life._

Part of me wants to believe that – it really does. It would be so simple to just pass it off as a mere glimpse of time, but it has been three years. One doesn't suddenly initiate a cycle after three years and decide that some random individual in the forest needs to die. That isn't crazy, or is beyond such. I believe the former.

_You are also not some random individual. Young one, she even refers to you has an innocent aquatic pet._

Exactly. This wasn't madness that drove her to this. While it makes me angry - infuriated, actually - I know there is a reason behind it. And I hope it is a good one.

Of all the things I feel right now, that is the ultimate truth. I don't even think the fact she tried to kill me bothers me all that much – she is by far furthest from the first. It isn't even the fact I hold some value of her opinion. Honestly…I don't even know what it is; I just…I don't know…

I take a long, deep breath. My eyes drift towards the sky, and I find myself squinting in the sun light. Only a few, seeming inches away from the glowing orb looms a dark, ominous structure. One that houses the army of outcasts: the Ebon Blade, the Death Knights. Despite how close it is, though, it fails to blot out the sun.

Strangely enough, it somewhat agitates me, the sun. If for no better reason than it is hurting my eyes – the strain is making my entire face ache, actually. My eyes drift downwards, yearning for a brief moment from the torment, but I find nothing; instead, merely a pool that intensifies the glow.

It has been some time since I looked upon the glimmering essence of life that flows like a glorious river, the new capital of the Plaguelands, Light's Hope Chapel. Not so much a chapel any more, I guess. More like a booming village. A town? City? Doesn't really matter, I suppose.

Still, it is a sight to behold. Less than five years ago, it was decrepit, shell of light. A faint reminder of death's passing fancy. Now it stands tall, a testament to the power of faith and the resolve of man. Amongst the trees, it weaves a blanket of life and prosperity within these lush forests - civilization and nature harmonizing almost perfectly. But…it doesn't really matter, I suppose.

I turn, taking a glimpse down the road I travelled. Like the forest, and the Chapel City, it fits in splendidly. Even the large, glimmering lake linked upon the end of the trail and the forest's girth is nestled gently in place. The only anomaly that can be seen is a small, darkened house. No open windows, no fresh pain, nothing but a dry sense of despair. _It_ is the only thing that seems out of place.

But it doesn't matter, I suppose.

Another deep, drawn-out breath follows. With it, my legs drag upon the freshly molded path, and I take down the main road at a rather hasty pace. My attention drifts from tree-to-tree, absorbing everything, yet not really seeing anything. Try as I might, to enjoy this lively scenario, I cannot. My mind is simply elsewhere.

_You always have your mind elsewhere. Young one, look at that healthy, climbing squirrel._

As if compelled, my eyes drift downward. I don't know how long I have been doing it, but my fingers fidget in a rather rhythmic fashion. In between them rolls a small, glinting piece of metal. A dull, empty face flips, revealing an intricately decorated side.

Though complicated, its pattern is true. It may be hard to see, but it is there, hidden among the seemingly random lines and etchings. It may be hard to see, but it is there, those piercing eyes of a pale enchantress. And how she stares into my very soul.

"Good day, stranger," a surprisingly close voice shatters my trance. A hooded figure rests upon a rather quiet, white horse. He is no more than a couple meters away. Given from his relaxed posture and his stead's rather content existence I am going to assume that they didn't sneak up on me. It would seem the Lady caught me again. "You lost?"

That voice…that voice is very familiar. I cannot quite place my finger on it, but it resonates in my mind. It almost feels like an entirety since I have heard it. "No," I say with a half-hearted shrug. "No, just passing by."

"'Passing by', you say?" A hint of condescendence is peppered upon his words. "I haven't seen you pass by this tower in years." I take a quick glance at a nearby hill, following its base to another crafted of brick and stone. It would seem I was distracted way longer than I imagined.

"Things change, I suppose."

He takes a quick glance at his surroundings, "I suppose, indeed."

The air grows heavy. Awkwardness tip-toes upon every breath, dancing between us. For some reason I feel as if it should be stronger, this awkwardness of ours, but for some other reason, the silence almost feels…well-placed.

Without uttering another word, I continue onward, a trotting horse clapping at my side. We don't say a word. We don't need to. Of course, my mind, once again, is elsewhere; locked upon a small piece of metal; focused upon a pair of piercing, prodding eyes.

"What do you have there?" It would seem that there is another set of eyes upon me.

My mouth opens, but I hesitate. "A sign," I mutter just loud enough for him to hear.

"'A sign'? Mind if I intrude?"

"No," I swallow, "just a sign that led me to passing by."

"Ah," he adjusts the reins in his hands, "any reason why this sign – which I couldn't' help but notice belongs to the Forsaken – lured you out of your seclusion?" His words are soft, as always, yet seem to stab deeper than a screeching banshee.

I take a good, long look into the metallic eyes before replying, "I wish to ask her a question."

"Oh," he pauses, "so you are seeking death again, hmmm?"

A smile creeps up my face. It would seem, even after all these years, the old man still has his talents. Good to see that in the land of change there is some consistency. Even his look seems relatively the same. Say besides his now completely bald head, thick beard, and a couple more, barely noticeable wrinkles, he hasn't changed much. Well. Almost.

"Carlin," my eyes fall upon his back, "where is that shiny sword of yours?"

"The Ashbringer?"

"If that is the name of that big, sparkly thing you carried last I saw you, then yes."

He shifts his reins again, delaying his answer briefly, "grew too heavy for me."

"Really? A shame. You looked fine with it."

Oddly, he chuckles.

"What's funny?"

"You haven't changed a bit, Hope," he leans back in his saddle. His eyes peer into the heavens, yet it he looks at nothing particular. "Let me just say, Hope, that I just wasn't fit to wield that weapon."

"How come?"

"Well," his weight falls forward, bracing his world upon the back of his stead. A stern, almost unsettled look befalls his face. The old man skims the length of the road, falls upon the forest, and pierces deep into the thicket. For a moment or two he is silent until he sighs heavily. "This reminds me of a story, Hope."

I do like his stories.

"Many years ago, a young man spent his eyes wandering the wastes; scouring the vast fields of decay for almost nothing. One day, when he least expected it, his world was changed by a deep, crushing voice." A brief pause. "It was that day when the man decided to venture forth from the only world he has ever known. But he couldn't do it alone."

He leans forward. "With him went: an unruly, undead hunter, a set of rising paladins, and an old, lost man." A smile creeps up his face. "When they first set out, the young man turned to the old codger and for whatever reason, told him a tale of a little girl."

The smile fades.

"A little girl that had long lost her delightful little life – a ghost of an unfortunate soul. He told the old man of how the little girl was sad. Not sad because of town, or her parents, or her own life, but because she couldn't go on to her next delightful little existence knowing her Uncle wept for her every passing night."

Forlorn eyes fall upon aged, leather gloves. They scan every crack, every broken fiber of their worn and weary aspect worth and not worth finding. "It has been nearly ten years since that little girl died, yet every-single-night, I still think of her." Once more scans the forest. "No matter how full this forest becomes; no matter the prosperity; no matter the fortune; no matter how much life returns – all I will ever see is death. All I can taste…is death."

His eyes drift forward, falling upon something at the end of the road. "The last time I truly felt alive was when I left this place; when I decided to follow a wandering, lost man cross a strange bridge for his first time." They land upon me. "If you plan to cross that bridge again, Hope, then I follow you. I will follow you wherever you go."

My mouth opens. There are a thousand things I could say. There are a thousand things I should say. "OK," but that will have to do.

Once more awkwardness creeps in, but it is no more than a distant dancer. Instead, my eyes fall upon the old, silent man. They are slowly pulled away from him, down upon my vexation; upon the metallic piercing eyes that scream exactly what that old man just said. They tell a story of death. I should let them be a warning. I should listen to them.

But it doesn't matter, I suppose.


	3. Tale of Graves

It feels like an eternity since I was last here. Withered trees, rotting fields filled with maggot riddled husks, brown and decayed fields of grass, the bitter taste of death strewn upon the air: it is all I can remember, yet the taint seems scrubbed wholly – almost as if everything I can recall is but a faded nightmare of my own.

Such feelings only grow stronger as I bask in the sheer glow of what I behold. Trees bloom with life, swaying their branches to the beat of the wind, waving their long leafy fingers playfully at me. Thick, strong roots burrow fiercely into the soil, becoming one with the blades of crisp emerald grass. Flowers poke their cheerful faces spontaneously across the forest floor, greeting me with happy flamboyant colors.

Even once decrepit houses stand strong, their once broken husks seemingly reborn as if oaken phoenixes. Scurrying forth from their lively sheltering girths are the ultimate forms of what this land failed to nourish for so long: people.

Children scamper across the fields, swiping their tiny claws at one another in a playful chase. As we pass by, we can even see a young couple, robed in thick gray and black, watching their little monsters working diligently at being the perfect tiny ghouls that they are.

It is rather hypnotizing. Not quite sure what is about them – both parents and tiny ones – but I feel as if compelled to stare at them.

_You were always a bit creepy like that. Young one, pay no heed – family cohesion is glorious spectacle of life._

Those words seem right: a small family, each one wearing a smile, weaving among the dancing winds, basking in the beautiful light overhead. They seem so happy.

As I gaze, the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I find myself growing quickly uneasy. I don't need to wander what is happening. I know this feeling all too well. How I hate it.

"Come on, Hope," Carlin softly yet cautiously says. "Let us not dally here any longer." His voice slips beneath the cackling of hooves. He moves swifter than before. It takes me a bit effort to keep up with him, but not enough to keep me from hunting for what irritates me so.

Whatever is sending these shivers down my spine has to be nearby – watching, waiting. Except I cannot see anything. Or anyone. Not that I am a great detective or anything even near the sorts. That, sadly, means whoever is out there is hiding.

Nothing out of the ordinary, of course- not based on recent traditions, anyway. For so long I felt like I could go for days, weeks, even years and be a ghost, lost in the crowd with ease. As of late, I feel as if I am a glowing fire among a lush forest, lit for the entire world to see.

_You are being overdramatic. Young one, you do everything you can to prevent forest fires._

Yes. I guess both of those are true. Maybe I am just imagining things – fanning flames that aren't even there. Yet, at the same time, the hairs on my neck do not lie. While the world may not have its eyes upon me, something is out there. I know it.

"Hope," Carlin's voice hits me a second before his arm. We skid swiftly off the road and into the thicket. "Keep moving, Hope," he continues, his words slightly strangled by nervous hands. While he manages to keep calm in appearance, I can still sense a bit of anxiety about him.

"Carlin –" I begin before he shushes me with his hand. He takes a quick glance over his shoulder before fixating forward. I try to look back to see what he does, but the woods around us seem to devour the road along with our very path.

I glance forward and then back once more. There, as the boundaries of the wood become all I can see, a pair of figures emerges in our wake. They stop at the edges, gawking inward at the ghosts that plunge into the bowels of the forest. They are as mysterious to me as we are most likely to them, but I can tell one thing: they have no urge to follow where we go.

In seconds they too become but a snack for the sprawling wood. Whoever they were, they are definitely gone now – out of sight, anyway.

"Carlin –" once more I try, but Carlin shushes me. This time, however, he uses a mere forceful gaze instead. The one a mother might use to scold a naughty child, or a disappointed look of a teacher to a pupil. A look I know quite fondly, except I am rather confused. "Was it something I did?"

He sighs heavily - another tell-tale sign that I did something wrong. While I am not sure what it is, I know from that expression that it was bad. Before I can say another word, he replies, "No, Hope. You didn't do anything wrong."

"I...didn't?"

"No, Hope," he sighs again, "no you didn't"

"Are you sure?" I narrow my gaze and throw my sternest glare at him. "Are you messing with me? Did Nathanus put you up to this?"

He opens his mouth, but a cocked eyebrow is all that follows. That and a break in his otherwise firm demeanor – a smile, I do believe. A smile a gentle chuckle. "Well-played, my boy. Well-played, indeed."

I adjust my collar and smugly reply, "I have my moments, Carlin. I have my –" as if on cue, my tongue is silenced – along with my feet. Departing from sight, the emerald and brown oceans of leaves and bark are parted. In its stead is a clearing.

Standing in rows are numerous still units that stretch for a short distance in all directions. Each one is seemingly unique, each one its own shape and design. They hold perfectly upright, in perfect form. They never flinch. They never break their stance.

I am mesmerized by their dedication. Beckoned by their silent call, I find myself drawn into their field. Carefully I maneuver around each one, making certain not to disrupt their ritual. They pay no attention to me as I pass – they didn't have time then and they definitely don't have time now. There is a task at hand, and they must do it as flawlessly as ever.

Wait. A few rows down. There is something out of place. Something wrong. Without a moment of hesitation, I dart forward. My feet are precise. My eyes are keen. There is something definitely out of place.

"Stop!" A voice calls to me, but it is meaningless.

"Stop! Now!" Utterly meaningless.

"Stop! Stop! Stop -!" Words fall upon deaf ears. I skid to a stop at the side of one of the firm statues, and peer down at the earthen mesh at its base. With one, swift, yet smooth motion I scoop a small pocket of fine dirt and fill an obvious gap at the top. How in the world did someone manage to miss that? It was so obvious a clueless dimwit couldn't have missed –

"You!" Once more the voice rains down upon me. I turn, watching as a man dressed in clothing obviously three sizes too big for him comes stomping to my side. He takes a moment to catch his breath before grumbling, "I will never understand why I still get winded." He inhales fiercely and exhales, emitting a sound of a holey bag-pipe. "What do you think you are doing? Hmmm?"

I open my mouth, but he doesn't have time for me, "You come dashing through my field, somehow dodging my babies despite having feet of a drunkard? For what?" A mangled claw is thrown towards the ground. "To tidy a roof?"

"A roof -?"

"A roof! A roof of a grave." Harsh hisses sounds escape his lungs and he smiles. "Respecting the dead, eh, lad? Admirable. Admirable and downright honorable!" Boney fingers – literally and figuratively - smack my shoulders. "Not every day that you find a fellow graves' keeper. No sir. We are a unique breed! Let me tell you!" He hiss-laughs again. "Very rare indeed. Ha."

He pauses briefly before becoming uncomfortably stern. His eyes sweep the cemetery before he whispers secretively to me, "Did you know that one man built this thing? Years ago?"

"I know–?"

"Did you know he did it after the plague ravaged these lands, leaving it barren and rotten?"

"Maybe –"

"Hell'of'a'thing, right?"

"I don't know –"

"Of course it is!" He slaps me again. "Ha. They say the boy carried a shovel made of gold and shot silver bullets the size of cannon balls out of it! Yes'sir! He spent years here until one day that foolish Lich King tried to stop him, and do you know what he did?"

"Possibly –?"

"That's right! He marched straight to Northrend, swam to the Citadel itself, and gave that false king what for, he did." Once more the hiss-laughs rain. "Do you know what happened to him? The boy?"

"I am not sure- "

"Dang," he runs a set of boney fingers across his grey chin, "I was hoping you could tell me. Last I heard, the Lich King killed him and turned him into a ghoul or something. Used him to cut down trees or what not. A damn shame."

A deep, somewhat forlorn sigh escapes his lungs and he continues, "Just telling you, friend, that even us few graves' keepers can make a change in this world. All you have to do is get the motivation and the drive, and even you can one day become cannon fodder so that the real heroes can carry on. Understand?"

"Not really –?"

"Perfect!" With one hand he waves at me while he pushes me with the other, "now get! My flock needs tending, and you are distracting me! Go! Get!" Dazed and insanely confused, I turn and carry on. Carlin waits a few rows down, leaning on the back of his fine stead, staring somewhat impatiently at me. At his front is an aged fence, while the hungering forest looms at his back.

"Have a nice chat, Hope?" His words are soft and rather caring; despite his otherwise stiff appearance. I come to his side, stop, and stare a moment at the ground. "Hope?"

"I…I have no idea what just happened."

"Excuse me?"

"Carlin," I take a moment to control my otherwise chaotic thoughts. "Am I weird?"

The old man leans forward, taking a good look at me. After a moment, he replies, "Hope, what did he say to you? What happened, exactly?"

"Nothing. Nothing, really," I shake my head, "just having a revelation, is all."

"Hope –?"

"Hey!" Simultaneously, the two of us turn towards the voice of the man among the field of stone. "Just a warning – since I like you and what not – your kind isn't welcome here! Fair travels!" With a wave, the man pushes us to the back of his focus and carries on with his tasks.

I gawk at him for a moment longer, and gaze up to Carlin. Our eyes meet, and I can tell what is on his mind as if he is speaking directly into mine. As we turn, aiming back into the forest, it is he that says just loud enough for me to hear, "We know."

At that, the two of us venture back into the forest. Further and further we travel, heading always inward on the road we carve until it fades upon the horizon and is devoured by the woods.


End file.
